


Anything For Her

by dango96



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Anal Sex, Domestic Fluff, Egg Laying, Eggpreg, F/M, First Time, Oviposition, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Weird Biology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:40:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27124634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dango96/pseuds/dango96
Summary: For a prompt on the kink meme: "Nabatean accidentally lays eggs in their human lover. No feral heat or anything, they just either didn't know this could happen (Byleth, Flayn) or genuinely forgot (Rhea, Seteth)."Hubert and Byleth make an interesting discovery about Nabatean biology together.
Relationships: My Unit | Byleth/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 11
Kudos: 74
Collections: FE3H Kink Meme





	Anything For Her

**Author's Note:**

> It's pretty much what it says on the tin, but here are some content warnings to be clear:
> 
> **SPOILERS**
> 
> Byleth and Hubert have sex. Hubert is cis. Byleth has something similar to a penis (essentially an ovipositor) in addition to her human genitalia. Byleth accidentally lays eggs in Hubert (after a moment of alarm he finds it hot and consents), Hubert is eggnant for like 2 days, then Hubert lays eggs. It's all consensual, but if any of that bothers you, now you know.
> 
> **SPOILERS**
> 
> If you decide to give it a try anyway, thank you so much, and please let me know what you think!

Ever since the fallen goddess's power alighted upon her, Byleth has looked every bit the part of a Nabatean, from the tips of her ears to her pale green hair. It's ironic, Hubert thinks, that she should then be fighting on their side. That she should take him as a lover on top of that, moreso.

After all, one of their goals is to kill or scatter the last Nabateans, to permanently loosen their grip on this land.

Yet Byleth doesn't particularly seem to mind. If anything, she seems just as much a stranger to the changes to her body as the rest of the Black Eagles. But one change in particular — well. It's not something he suspects anyone else has seen.

And perhaps he should have anticipated something like this, but Hubert still finds himself caught off guard when she shyly disrobes in front of him. Her body is largely human — soft, full breasts contrasting hard abdominals, scars dotting the surface here and there. A plush swell of hips, once the talk of the entire Officer's Academy.

But then, jutting from her pubic mound, is — _something_. Something very similar to a penis, an erection of flesh perhaps five inches long, flushed as it nears the end where a slick slit lies; there is no flared head, nor testicles to speak of. In fact, the rest of her genitalia seems intact, with this... _whatever_ it is, simply taking the place of her clitoris.

Hubert can't help his stare, raising his brow in — not revulsion, of course not. Curiosity, confusion and apprehension in equal measure. It's like nothing he's seen before, and it's certainly a bit alien in its appearance. But it's soft, pink, and glistening, and — considering the rest of her, can he really object too much?

He already wants to touch her badly, to feel every inch of yielding skin against his hands. After all, he's never been naked with a woman, with anyone.

"So," Byleth breaks the silence, an uncharacteristic hesitation in her voice, her eyes struggling to meet his. "Along with my other... changes, I woke up with this."

"How curious," Hubert deadpans. "Another secret the Nabateans kept."

The joke seems to loosen some of her tension, prompting her to sit on the mattress with a grin, and — the protrusion between her legs _bobs_. The sight sends an unexpected throb of arousal to his groin.

It's not as if he's never fantasized about having a partner with a penis — he's always been bisexual, his arousal never discriminating with matters of gender or anatomy. And there's the fleeting thought of being _taken_ by it, of his dear Professor holding him down and _intimately_ introducing him to her strange and exciting new anatomical feature...

His cock swells hard against the front of his pants, demanding his attention. Hubert steadfastly ignores it, approaching until he can settle on the bed beside her.

There is a pause, and something in the air between them: electric and paralyzing at the same time.

"May I—"

"Yes," Byleth blurts out before he can finish, catching him by surprise. How strange he hadn't placed it before; amidst the shyness on her delicate features, a restrained excitement.

"Well," Hubert smirks, his voice a husky chuckle as his gloved hand encircles her, "if you're so eager for it, then I suppose I can indulge you."

Byleth answers him with a moan, and he feels her _pulse_ against his fist.

Again he likens it to a penis, but the liquid dribbling from the head is thinner than precome, slippery and ample in amount. To his surprise, it leaks over his fingers profusely as he squeezes and strokes her, and before long, his glove is uncomfortably wet.

There's a hesitation in his movements as he pinches the fabric, wiggles it off — after all, she's not the only one sharing matters of unusual anatomy. The glove bares blackened, scarred flesh underneath, rippling up across his forearms in an inhuman gradient of purples and greys.

Years of dark magic had taken their toll on his body, and if Hubert is honest with himself, he'd never expected to get this far with a partner, to have to face the reality of showing this part of himself to anyone.

Thankfully, Byleth senses his apprehension, and before he knows it, his hand is cradled in both of hers, her skin pale by comparison against the ugly greys. He feels a spike of fear, that she might reject him now, but she lifts it to her face, and —

oh, she's _kissing_ it, pressing her lips delicately against his palm, like an act of worship.

The flush crawling up Hubert's cheeks feels utterly alien to him, a heretofore unknown sensation, as does the odd swelling in his chest, like a balloon ready to pop. His eyes sting, though he can't figure out why.

And she turns his hand, nuzzles her cheek into it, staring at him with that odd, impassive expression of hers. There is, he thinks, the hint of a smile in her features, as her fingers take the opposite glove and pull it off, inch by inch.

"Byleth," he whispers, reverent.

"Hubert," she answers, her voice gentle and a command all at once.

Hubert thinks in terms of devotion, the only language nearing affection or romance he's ever spoken. He would die for this woman, he thinks. He would die in her service, and if Her Majesty were not here — what a terrible thought that is — he would wage any war Byleth asked.

Of course, his life is pledged to Her Majesty. Irrevocably so. But this is another sort of life, another kind of devotion, a pledge made behind closed doors and on soft, pillowy sheets.

"I want you," he breathes out, and nearly forgets to finish the thought. His fingers, naked and numb to sensation, curl once more around the base of her — her cock, he supposes, for want of a better term. "I want you. I want your, I want you to—"

Byleth captures his mouth, then, their lips crushing together, pushing him down onto the mattress.

Their kisses are clumsy yet eager, feverishly hot. Her fingers rake over him, making quick work of his clothes, and it's not long before he's nearly in the same state of undress, her hands dragging at his smallclothes. His cock bounces free, lolls against his belly, already painfully hard.

And between his lover's legs, her cock is — dripping all over, leaking that clear, slippery lubrication. He watches with interest as she scoops it up with her fingers, getting them thoroughly slicked, before sliding them between his thighs.

The digits press at his hole, but don't yet breach him, lingering there. Byleth finds his gaze, biting her lip.

"Are you sure you want this?" Her long lashes flutter over her pretty celadon eyes. Hubert is certain he has never wanted more for anything in his life.

"Yes," Hubert answers breathlessly. "Do you?"

"Of course," Byleth blurts out, then looks a bit shy at the admission. "I don't know why, but I _really_ want to be inside you. But I've never..."

"A new experience for both of us, then," Hubert smirks, despite the redness creeping up his cheeks at the content of her words. "Interspecies communication."

Byleth lets out a sound near to a _giggle_ , and he hardly has time to think about how endearing it is before one slick finger probes into him. It's not painful, just _odd_ , made easy by how wet the intrusion is. A slow, consistent pressure, soon joined by a second digit, spreading him open where he is most vulnerable.

Hubert releases a breath he hadn't realized he was holding when they draw out for a moment so she can lubricate them more, and when she slips back inside, it's with a third finger, scissoring and spreading him for a few minutes. It quickly melts from odd to pleasurable, especially when one of them brushes against _something_ that makes him buck with surprise, bunching the sheets up in his fists.

"Byleth," he groans, embarrassed to find his voice coming out more like a whimper.

"Are you ready?"

"Yes," he huffs out, his hole clenching around the empty space when she draws out of him. "Please."

Byleth wastes no time, moving to position herself in a sitting position in front of him, her dripping cock at the junction of his thighs. A moment passes, then two, then — then it's pushing _in_ , no flared head to force him open, only a steady, thick length going in, in, in...

"Ah," Byleth moans as she bottoms out in him, already panting. Everything feels a little smaller, now, a little more focused, like the outside world has ceased to matter, only his beautiful lover leaning over him and the point at which their bodies are joined. It doesn't hurt, but it's — it's so hot, and thick, and it's wet, because if she was dripping all over _outside_ of him, she must be gushing now —

"How is it?" Hubert gasps, barely managing the thought when all he can think about is the pressure inside. "How does it feel, Byleth?"

"It's so much," she whimpers, and he can tell from the flush on her cheeks that she's telling the truth. "You feel so tight, Hubert. It's almost too sensitive."

He's nearly about to tell her she can stop if she wants, no matter how much _he_ doesn't wish to stop — but then she rocks her hips, pulls out of him just a bit only to slide back inside, a slippery glide of heat inside heat. It knocks the air right out of his lungs, and again when she does it a little faster, a little deeper.

Byleth angles herself as she pleases, tries Hubert on in whatever way she likes, all while he lays there and moans — until the slick shaft grinds directly over his prostate, leaving his hips twitching and lifting like he'd been subject to an electric shock. His reaction doesn't escape her notice, and so the friction doesn't stop — back and forth, wetly rubbing over his most sensitive spot with profane, squelching sounds.

And it's — all of it is so much. He's been a virgin his entire life, never been pleasured by another, yet alone so deeply, so intimately. Byleth is leaning over him now as she thrusts in and out, their faces a few inches apart, sweat glistening on her freckled shoulders, on her swaying breasts. It's too much to take in.

"Hubert," she gasps shallowly. "Hubert, I'm going to—"

He beats her to the finish line, shuddering and arching off the mattress with a throaty groan, his cock pulsing and twitching with every wave of his muscles contracting. He can feel himself _squeezing_ around her, milking her, wanting everything she has to give, and his orgasm is so, so much more intense than any other time he's had it.

Byleth doesn't stop, rocking into him, again and again, until — until surely she must be done, because she's stopping, moaning, her arms wrapped tightly around him, her lips panting against his neck. He doesn't feel her coming inside, only the slick already pouring out, trickling out of his hole around her cock.

But then.

"Ah," Byleth whines, almost like she's in pain, shuddering as she gives one more tight thrust. Hubert's about to ask if she's alright, but then she rocks her hips just a little, and — and he _feels_ something.

Something hard and round, traveling up her shaft, spreading him open wider than before. The sudden, foreign stretch aches, like having a ball pushed inside of him, and it isn't until Byleth _shivers_ as the object pushes itself free from her cock and into his _body_ that he starts to put together what's happening.

"Byleth," he gasps, a hint of alarm in his voice.

"I'm sorry," she groans, her voice somewhere between exertion and ecstasy. "I don't — I don't know what's happening. I can't stop. I..."

Hubert is about to raise his objections as a second egg presses in past his rim, but then — it _presses_ against his prostate, runs against it agonizingly slow and firm as it moves through the shaft, and _Goddess_ it's good. By the time the second intrusion is deposited into his body, he's squirming and panting with sensitivity, back arched, his spent cock already twitching back to half-hardness.

The reality of the situation hits him in full — he is trapped, helpless beneath her, forced to be a vessel as she lays egg after egg inside of him. Byleth's body is heavy, far more muscular than his own, pinning him down on the bed no matter which way he moves. He can't get out if he tried.

It should be terrifying. He should be trying to get her off of him. The third egg pushing in shouldn't feel as good as it does.

But isn't this another form of devotion, anyway? An act of service?

Hubert shudders and arches, feels that slow, aching grind as the protrusion rolls against his prostate, massaging his most tender point. And he moans, loud and unbidden, desperately wanting it again.

By the fifth egg, he's begging aloud for it. The sixth rips another orgasm straight out of him, cock completely untouched, flushed a shiny red and spilling all over his belly. After the tenth, he's lost count and ceased to care.

The world becomes hazy. He is an object that exists to take everything she gives him, his lower body aching with need, aching around the pressure inside of it that only seems to grow and grow. He's vaguely aware of Byleth grunting and moaning, making little movements of her hips, and he can only imagine she is in much the same state, nearly a trance.

"Byleth," he whimpers weakly as something inside of him shifts uncomfortably, a pain like a cramp. How many eggs has it been? How long has he been here? It could have been hours — he can't tell anymore. But he can't do this forever.

"Close," Byleth gasps out, and he notices that her hair is damp with sweat, her body flushed all over from the exertion of it. "Please— one more."

"Byleth," he repeats, voice melting into something akin to a whine as something hard and round forces itself into him once again, pressing and pressing and _pressing_. It feels so good. It feels so bad. He's had too much, come too much, his body can't give any more —

Hubert tries to look down at his cock, and that's when he sees it — his belly, swollen and jutting outward profanely, so much so that it's hiding his cock from view. He looks _pregnant_ , heavily swollen with Byleth's eggs. Oh, he must have so _many_ inside, then. He took so many, all for her. Only for her. He can feel them shifting, slipping against each other in his insides.

A dry orgasm rocks through him as the last egg slips in, pulls a loud, desperate moan from his throat, clenching weakly around her cock as his world goes white again.

It's neatly deposited into his insides like the rest, and Byleth — Byleth finally, finally pulls out, starting to soften, liquid spilling out of him and still dripping from her tip. There's so much to clean up, but neither of them are in any condition to do so. Byleth hardly manages to hold herself up for a moment before collapsing on the bed beside him, panting and overheated, and by that time, Hubert is already unconscious.

They drift in and out of sleep from sheer exhaustion, but whenever Hubert briefly comes back into consciousness, he is aware of one thing above all else — Byleth's hand resting gently, protectively on his swollen belly.

—

First, there is an apology. A profuse apology. But Hubert sees no reason to hold it against her. After all, Byleth seems to be telling the truth when she says she had no idea this would happen.

Then a bath. Byleth helps him wobble on unsteady legs to the bathroom, gently scrubbing him and herself clean, for which he is grateful. The sheets are put out to be laundered. He puts on his loosest pair of pants, unbuttoned without any belt, and an undone dress shirt.

Thirdly — and Hubert strongly dislikes this — a lie to Her Majesty, that Hubert is ill with a flu and should not be seen, nor do any work until he has recovered. The duration of which is unclear, given that neither of them know how long it will take for the eggs to be _delivered_.

Hubert finds himself greatly relieved when Byleth returns from Edelgard's office with a stack of papers, placing them upon his desk next to his quills.

"I thought you could use the distraction," Byleth suggests, her gaze still apologetic as Hubert waddles over to the desk — pulling his chair out further than usual — to start attending to it. "I got some less urgent papers for you to work on."

"Thank you," he sighs appreciatively.

He's about to start writing when Byleth unexpectedly circles around to lean over the chair, hands stroking adoringly across his engorged belly. He feels her face dipping into the crook of his neck, kissing gently there.

"You look good like this, Hubert," Byleth murmurs, massaging appreciatively. The pressure causes a shifting sensation in his intestines, and he whimpers, leaning back into her touch. "All swollen up for me. I can't believe you took so many."

He laughs breathlessly, cheeks flushing. That shouldn't be so arousing, but it is, his limp cock twitching with interest. "I hope you don't mind if I don't care to repeat the endeavor."

She shares in his laughter, nuzzling against his skin, just relishing in the closeness of their bodies. As odd as it is, it's — strangely comfortable, being taken care of like this, even with the occasional painful cramp in his abdomen. More than that, he seems to be suffering some sort of hormonal shift, perhaps as a result of the fluids she'd deposited into him, resulting in a disturbing, pervasive sensation one might describe as _the warm fuzzies_.

"It's kind of sad, though," she murmurs. "That none of them will hatch."

That had been his initial panic — that not only was he carrying eggs, but that they would _grow_ inside of him, or even hatch inside. Hubert had blanched at the thought, recalling some sort of wildlife journal Bernadetta had told him about before, with accounts of the unusual reproductive cycle of wasps.

But he'd calmed down after a little logic had reasoned that the eggs alone were not fertile, not without fertilization, probably from a Nabatean male. Otherwise, Rhea would have long ago repopulated their species. And the only male they knew of was Seteth — with how they'd driven him and Flayn into hiding, Hubert highly doubted he was interested in any such activity.

(The idea of being held down and forcibly bred by another man, though — well. Hubert tried not to dwell too much on _that_ fascinating thought. His cock was tired enough as it is.)

And as such, it was only a matter of time — a few days, at most — before the eggs came _out_. And until then, it was a matter of putting his feet up and being pampered by one very adoring girlfriend. A difficult task to bear, surely.

"As much as I appreciate your enthusiasm," Hubert smirks lazily, "I don't believe we'd have the resources to raise two dozen children in wartime."

"Hmm," Byleth mumbles, kissing his cheek. "Maybe just one, then."

Hubert feels his cheeks go red at the implication, quickly looking back down at his paperwork, letting his hair hide his smile.

"I agree. That sounds much more reasonable."

—

It takes two days of bloating and cramping, but relief for Hubert finally comes in the form of pressure in his lower pelvis — slow at first, but quickly more insistent and difficult to ignore. He quickly disrobes, and with Byleth's help, sits naked in the bathtub with her settling in behind him, her arms loosely around his protruding belly.

But soon enough, fifteen minutes pass, and — there is nothing. The fear that perhaps this won't be as easy as expected sparks up in his mind, though he tries to quickly dismiss it.

"Maybe we just need to get it started first," Byleth suggests.

"And how, exactly, do you propose we do that?"

"Labor is muscle contractions, right?" Her hands wander lower, edging towards his groin, and Hubert immediately understands where this is going.

"This isn't exactly labor," he points out. "But I suppose it can't hurt to try."

With his consent given, Byleth's fingers gently curl around his cock — and he sighs comfortably, shifting his hips forward, trying to ease his swollen abdomen back a little to give her better access. She quickly gets a firm grip, giving him slow, long strokes from base to tip, over and over until he's fully hard.

He's not sure if it's some sort of hormonal change forced by his body, or perhaps the weight of whatever's inside him pushing against something, but everything feels — a little tender, a little too sensitive. Not unbearably — it still feels good, still forces a whimper out of him when she swipes her thumb over his slick cockhead, her other hand squeezing his balls until they draw up tighter.

But he usually takes longer than this to get into it, longer still to come. And yet, she already has him begging, rocking his hips, softly pleading her name as she strokes the head again, and again, and again —

"Ah—" Hubert groans deeply as he comes, painting a white stripe of spend across the underside of his belly, trembling as his abdomen clenches and spasms in that familiar, euphoric way. Goddess above. It's like he's a teenager again.

His stomach starts to cramp as he's coming down, and Hubert freezes. Sure enough, something inside of him _shifts_ , and — and it starts to come _out_.

He whimpers, half out of pleasure and half out of apprehension at what's happening, as a smooth, hard orb works its way through him, pushes familiarly against his prostate, and — Goddess, it wasn't this big before, was it? It's so big, too big, too much — and it finally crowns, and he strains around it, until finally, finally, it's out of him and on the bathtub floor as he pants with exertion.

"There," Byleth soothes, stroking his abdomen gently, kissing his cheek. "One down."

His vision pulls back into focus, and he sees it — slick with lubrication, perfectly spherical and white. Rubbery, like a boiled egg, rather than a hard eggshell.

It's somewhere between horrifying and fascinating to think that it used to be inside him. Doubly so to think that there are many, many more to come.

"Here," she murmurs, taking hold of him again, making him whimper with oversensitivity. One of her fingers dips down to his hole, now stretched out and wet, pushing in and then crooking just _so_ , stroking him just right.

It's asking for too much, too soon. He just came, he can't again, it's too sensitive and his skin feels hot and numb. But the fingertip against his tender prostate feels like it reaches straight to his core, pulling pleasure out of its dark crevices, until he's pitifully rocking his hips in an attempt to fuck himself on it.

"Please," Hubert begs, unsure if he's begging her to stop or to keep going. His cock hurts, but he needs it, needs _this_. A second finger, then, a second fingertip, right where he needs it, exposing him, unraveling him from the center outward. "Please, please—"

He comes a second time, embarrassingly quickly and throbbing painfully, coming less but still enough to make him whimper. But the pleasure blooms like an inferno, hot and expanding inside to touch every edge, forcing him to squeeze and release and squeeze again until — oh, more are coming, pushing down and out, one after another —

Hubert isn't sure when the fingers draw out and are replaced by egg after egg pushing through him, assaulting his prostate, but once it starts, it doesn't stop. They're horribly solid and unyielding and _big_ , and he nearly sobs as one eases out, and another, and another. It's so much to handle, pressed flat against every singing nerve, every overstimulated inch of his insides.

It gets easier, after a while. Either he's looser, or time ceases to matter, or perhaps a bit of both — he's faintly aware of Byleth whispering reassurance in his ear, of hands massaging and pressing on his belly, of pressure and then relief. A third orgasm in there somewhere, when she takes him in hand and strokes, sobbing out moans while his tight hole squeezes and convulses around a particularly large one.

And then — it's done.

Over as suddenly as it started, his belly cramping painfully, emptily. Just him breathing harshly, his head slung back against Byleth's shoulder, hair matted with sweat.

"You did so good, Hubert," Byleth coos, stroking his chest, his belly, his flaccid cock, his thighs. "You did amazing. I love you."

Hubert can only whine weakly in response, basking in the warmth of her praise, his eyes closed. He only manages to open them for a moment, in his exhausted haze, to glance down at the tub in front of them.

 _There's so many,_ he thinks distantly, with a vague sense of pride. _I took them, kept them, laid them — all for her._

And as Byleth presses tender, loving kisses to his neck, worshipping his skin and gently holding his hands, he thinks that maybe, just maybe, he'd be willing to do it again, too.

Anything for her.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed my work, please consider leaving a comment in the comments below, I read every single one and though I'm shy and I have trouble replying, it really means a lot!


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